Don't Say Anything
by Petals Open to the Moon
Summary: She is feared by the world of immortals. She has no friends. But inside... she is nothing. He is a King, after all, and there have been too many tragedies written about those who hope to climb above their station... An Aro/Jane fic.
1. Chapter 1

**"It won't help if you wait for me **

**I'm a slave to the dark." **

**~ (Tarja Turunen) ~**

"At least hear me out, Aro," Caius says softly. His tone is out of place with his nature, although that may be to do with the fine blood they are imbibing.

"I told you I would give it thought, brother. Have a little patience with me."

Patience is not in Caius' vocabulary. He lifts the glass with a low growl, polishing off the dregs. Aro tilts his head back, smiling faintly to himself. They have well earned this moment of quiet and relaxation, and he has no wish to interrupt it with talk of work. The Romanians had run like sheep with wolves on their tail, back to the stinking peasant mountains they called home. He could care less, for the moment.

"An excellent brand," he whispers.

Caius nods. "Female?"

"Aristocrat."

"Ah."

They both snicker, like two schoolboys sharing a dirty secret. The brass knocker behind Aro's study door sounds. It is not really necessary, but the Guard have a strict regimen to obey. "Come in," he calls cheerily.

A young girl enters, carrying a fresh bottle on a polished tray.

"Ah, Jane." Aro's voice thins out, losing some of its honeyed quality. Caius smiles at her; one of his brief, unpracticed smiles. They are on fairly good terms.

Aro does not smile. "Thank you, my sweet. Come here."

She approaches, saying nothing. He glances at the dark liquid swirling about in the bottle. "The same year, yes?"

"Two previous, Master."

"_Perfetto!" _He gestures for her to refill their glasses, laughing a little when her hand trembles, spilling a bit of the blood onto his thumb. He brings it to his mouth, swirling his tongue over the skin briefly before sucking it into his mouth to cleanse it fully. When he opens his eyes, he sees her watching him. His own eyes darken to an impossible onyx, blotting out any pleasure received from the wine.

"Serve your other Master," he says curtly.

She turns immediately, filling Caius' glass up to the brim. He teases her gently in Greek, coaxing her to practice the ancient tongue, but her mind is not there. Her fingers sparkle red in the candlelight, from when she spilled so carelessly, and her mind is not there at all. From some distant place, she can hear Aro's voice, and he is not happy with her.

"Leave us, my darling," he says sweetly. "Take the bottle with you."

She bows her head, completely obeisant, and glides carefully back towards the door.

"Jane?"

Her breath stops.

"You may have a glass of it, if you wish. And your brother. Consider it a gift from me."

She turns, daring to look him in the eyes. "Yes, Master," she says hollowly. The door closes behind her, causing the knocker outside to click against the wood gently.

"What's wrong with her?" Caius frowns. "She's acted like a regular corpse these past few weeks."

"Children will be children," Aro grins, winking at his brother. He pretends to listen attentively as Caius brings up a new subject, but his mind is not really there.

Children will be children. But she is not a child, and has not been for over one thousand years. His mouth twists into a scowl, seeing her injured face, and he forgets what his brother is saying.

He should have brought the damn bottle up from the cellar himself.

* * *

"Jane!"

He is so happy to see her, wrapping his arms around her body easily. He smells the same, as always. Sweet, with a hint of parchment paper and fresh apples.

All vampires have a natural, sweet-smelling scent, as a result of the venom circulating in their bodies. The smell of parchment comes from the magnificent library in the castle, where her brother spends many of his hours.

He and Master Marcus are occasional companions; the older vampire not minding the company of a polite, wise little boy.

Jane sniffs his hair, ignoring his uncomfortable squirm as she does so. The scent of apples is not really there, but she imagines it, anyway. They had never been wealthy, as human children in a small, Anglo village, but the food had been fresh... most of the time. They had a few apple trees in the backyard, and Mother would send them outside to pick the best ones, so she could stew them over the fire until the hard, crispy skins shriveled into a warm, baked husk. The smell of those apples, stuffed to bursting with spices and bits of cloves, is one of her favorite memories.

Before Mother grew tired. Before Father noticed things he shouldn't have.

Jane opens her eyes. Alec is watching her. Why does _everyone _watch her now? "What are you doing, Alec?" she asks.

"I heard you were not feeling well…" He swings her arms, uncertain. They look so innocent, standing there together, albeit the queer clothing. To anyone outside the Coven, they would simply be a brother and sister who love each other.

But the twins serve a king. Three of them. And there are no secrets in a king's court. Intrigue is on the menu every day, and it looked as if her brother had had an unwelcome taste of it.

"Speak your mind, brother."

He releases her hands. "Jane, I heard…"

"From whom?"

"… that you were leaving."

"Leaving? Where? Why?" She feels sick, suddenly. This is not what she thought.

"He is sending you away." Alec's eyes are soft, compassionate. "Little sister, if there something you want to tell me? I won't judge you."

Her eyes are filmed over. "Oh, Alec…"

He holds her. For now, this is good enough. This is okay.

* * *

***leans my chin on fist, looking at all of you thoughtfully* Well?**


	2. Chapter 2

**"It is well," said Haidee; "your order shall be executed, my lord; **

**I will forget even your name, and be happy."**

**(Alexandre Dumas; "The Count of Monte Cristo")**

_**Two weeks previous… **_

She is reading. High above the volumes, tablets, and scrolls of literature, in one of the buttresses of the ceiling. She knows no one will look for her there. She finds a different place each time, to be alone with her and her book. Last time, it was under her bed. The only one who suspected her of such childishness was Aro.

He didn't mind. He only laughed.

"Come out, little dust bunny," he'd said. "Come and take a walk with me."

She grows still, her book forgotten for a moment as she remembers. They had gone outside, her hand in his, to inspect some of the wilting flowers in the arboretum. The fortress has many amusements and delights, but few are as varied and beautiful as the gardens. They make her happy, because they make her Master happy. She cherishes all of the special moments they share, guiding them a little closer to her heart each time. She is spoiled by him, and she knows it. She also does not care.

Jane closes her eyes, the book slipping. She feels his papery thumb on her cheek, brushing away reddish tears as she tells him her anxiety about something. He holds her close, whispering kind words before placing a purple lily into her hand.

"Smile for me," he orders.

Jane sucks in a breath. The book falls from her hands. She glances down in surprise, watching the pages flutter briefly before it slaps onto the floor, at least thirty feet below. The morocco binding is broken, but not as broken as her heart.

You see, she has committed a crime. It is the crime of thinking.

* * *

_What am I going to do? _

"Play with me, Jane," Alec pleads, interrupting her train of thought. His slender fingers toy with a pawn, tapping it against a black square. He sounds whiny, and it irritates her.

"No," she says sharply. "I hate chess."

"That's a first." He stands up with an angry glance at her, disappearing from the room. She lolls back in her chair, relieved to see him go. She needs to think.

Even though her thoughts torment her.

_What am I going to do?_ There is no one who can help her with this. This is a problem far and beyond anything she's ever had to face. Even the battle with those filthy bastards, Stefan and Vladimir, was nothing to this. She was at a tender age, then. Freshly changed. Scarcely a decade old, with her new powers stretching and expanding until everything around her seemed glazed over in a bloody mist of pain. Until she centered it on someone else. _Then, _and only then, was she able to breathe. Then she could focus on what was most dear to her. Her brother, her new Coven family, her master…

_Her Master… _

_I am so old, _she thinks, and her lips tremble. _I am _so _old, and I have never truly loved. _

The door opens to her chamber, causing her to stir in confusion. She heard no one approaching. Hot words rise to her lips, expecting yet another annoying request from her brother, but she stops. Her body is paralyzed and released in a matter of seconds, leaving her with a strange, weak-kneed feeling as she wanders towards her Master.

"Are you well, _bambina?" _he asks.

She smiles at the concern in his voice. Only moments ago, she was frightened, but now she is unstoppable; courageous in her adoration. He is so kind to her. He would never judge her for feelings she could not control, because she is his precious one, his _gioiello. _He will either help her with this sin, guiding her gently to the best course, or love her in return.

The thought stretches her grin to the corners of her plump cheeks. Her eyes twinkle at him. "Do you need something, Master?"

"Not if my little one is feeling ill."

"I couldn't feel ill, Master. Not with you beside me."

Her cheeks flush, metaphorically. _Too much, too much! _But he only smiles, opening the door wider for her. "Come for a walk with me?"

The familiar words bring warmth back into her limbs. She nods eagerly, blowing out the candle by her side with renewed vigor. She is careful while walking past him. He must not touch her. Not yet. She will tell him everything… soon.

"You have been quiet lately," he observes. His pace matches hers easily.

"Yes." She sounds dreamy and stupid, but she does not care. She is walking beside him. Thinking about how much she loves him, and walking beside him.

"Any particular reason?"

"No," she says cheerfully. "Not really."

His laughter echoes off the walls briefly before melting into a faint chuckle. She doesn't know why he finds this amusing, but she smiles with him, anyway.

They go to the gardens. The sanctuary of the _fortezza. _The air is heavy with the scent of night, so powerfully alluring for an immortal: flowers breathing out seductive toxins, the whisper of a rabbit's heartbeat, the stars nestled deep into a soft blanket of indigo skies.

"I love this place," Aro says suddenly. He closes his eyes, his breath stopping for a moment, then exhaling in a perfumed sigh.

She watches him, growing drunk off the sight of him. Her Master turns to gaze at her, and he is so beautiful, her breath trips in her throat. A raven lock wisps across his cheek as he sighs again. He gestures them to a stone bench underneath a vine of amaryllis. The plant is silent under the stars, but its scent is pungently sweet.

He waits for her to take her seat. "There _is _something, isn't there?" he urges.

_It's time. _

_But I'm not ready. _

_Ready as you'll ever be… _

She takes a breath, and her reedy voice grows even more high-pitched.

"Aro, I… I have something to tell you!"

He chuckles. "Indeed? And what is it?"

She falters. What now? "It's a surprise. A surprise for _you." _

"I love surprises!" he beams. His hand reaches towards her, to stroke her cheek, no doubt, but she leans back a little. He frowns, bewildered, but she's rushing on. "It's something very… very special, but I think you will like it. It's not what you think at all, but then again…"

"Good heavens, child. Tell me!"

His eyes are laughing. He thinks it's a joke, she realizes. He thinks I'm only teasing him, and he's playing along, joining in with a child's game. Her bravery sheds like a second skin, translucent and weak. She is utterly defenseless, and she's set herself up now. She can't say it.

_I can't say it! _

"Aro," she rushes softly. "Please…"

He has ceased to laugh, regarding his little gem with worry. "Jane?"

"Please don't judge me?"

"I could never judge you."

Her hand itches across the stone bench, pausing on a withered petal briefly. "Please… please don't be angry?"

"_Cara, _of course not." He whispers, too.

There's another long moment, an agony of indecision as the memories and feelings illuminate every part of her body. Then she touches him. Just a brush on the back of his hand, but it's enough.

More than enough.

He says nothing, then, for a long while. She understands. He likes to savor the thoughts of others, giving them time and courtesy as he absorbs the details. Jane looks down at the folds of her dress, easy for her to see, though it is black. She only wears black because he does. It's only more proof of her love for him.

_Love. _She closes her eyes, feeling so, so happy. Love pulses through every cell and vein, throbbing like fireflies in a dark forest. She feels as if her whole body is glowing, and wonders if he can see it.

_Love, love, love, love, love—_

"Jane," he says.

His voice is strangely empty. Confused, she opens her eyes. He is not looking at her, but past her. His evasiveness turns her cold. All the fear, all the anxiety, all the sheer hell of the past two weeks comes rushing back, blotting out the warm light she had been feeling only moments earlier.

"Jane," he says again.

She trembles at the ice in his voice. His lips move, forming one word, a single word. Her eyes fall away from his face, growing blurred as crimson tears rush to the surface.

Negation.

Denial.

_Pain. _

It's dark outside. She feels very small, all of a sudden. Smaller than the glimmering ruby hiding beneath his vest. Smaller than the ant crawling across the cobblestones below her feet. Her Master rises without another word, turning his back on her and walking away down the path.


	3. Chapter 3

"**I've never been an angel. Pray you'll never see me cry." **

**(Plazma) **

Depression. Loneliness. Shutting herself out entirely, despite the looks others threw at her.

What did they care, anyway? They weren't ever there for her before. Why comfort the "witch child" now?

In a way, though, she doesn't blame them. Has she ever been that approachable?

Jane winces, turning her face deeper into her pillow. She lies fully-clothed on the bed, her little grey cloak covering her like a blanket. She hasn't left her rooms in several days now.

No one has been there for her before. Only Alec and Aro. And she has lost the latter. Her heart feels as if it's hanging on a string, dangling temptingly for some predator to snatch at. Vulnerable to every and any form of abuse.

Words hurt.

_Are_ they talking about her? Do they notice Aro's shunning of her? So far, there have only been rumors, but he need only execute his order to send her away. Then her heart will fall away completely. She won't be able to protect herself anymore.

"Sister?"

Her brother's voice whispers through the crack in her chamber door, where she didn't shut it all the way. She doesn't ask him to leave, so he comes in, closing it carefully behind him. She can smell the freshness he brings with him; his content with his place in eternity and with the Volturi.

She can also smell his pain. Pain at not knowing what ails her. Pain at not being able to do anything about it.

They are still little children, in a way. And they are frightening each other.

"Sister?" The bed dips beside her. His hand brushes back her sandy curls, coaxing her to turn her head and look at him. "Please talk to me."

She looks at him. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Just tell me what's wrong. I've never seen you this way."

"Alec… I can't."

"Why not? I'm your brother."

She puts her hand over his soothingly. "Yes. And you know I love you."

"Stop keeping me in the dark," he pleads. "Everyone's talking about it."

_What do they say? _No, she doesn't care.

"I'm sorry," she says again.

His forehead crinkles unhappily. She opens her arm and he sighs, lying down on the sheets beside her. They huddle together, saying nothing, sharing in her secretive pain.

She hates lies. She hates lying to Alec, most of all.

* * *

He hasn't sent her anywhere. She sits dully in a corridor of the fortress, nestled like an injured bird on the floor. Perhaps Alec hadn't heard it from Aro, after all. She hasn't asked either of them for the truth. It could have been a Guard member, gossiping in the wee hours of the night, before the patrols were switched. It doesn't surprise her, the thought of them gossiping. Angers her, yes, but she's not shocked by rumors.

Laughter echoes down the hallway. Jane turns her head, her eyes darkening at her shattered privacy. She turns away again with effort, knowing that if she holds her gaze, her temper will only get the better of her.

She's not in the mood for inflicting pain.

The owners of the laughter are soon revealed. Felix and a boldly-dressed Heidi, tumbling out of the darkness scarcely twenty feet from the child vampire.

"Finders keepers," Heidi cries breathlessly.

"Shut up," he says, his voice like grating rocks.

A slamming sound, followed by another shriek from Heidi. There is a scuffling noise, mixed up subtly with muffled moans and sighs. Jane's eyes widen, staring in the other direction at a crack in the wall. She can hear Felix breathing hard and groaning, the noise disgustingly loud in the silence.

She need not look to see what they're doing, but she does anyway. The two vampires are tangled up together, their kisses rough and intimate. Nightly trysts are no secret in the fortress, and those who are not involved or without a mate are forced to bear it occasionally. This includes her and Alec, though they usually flee outside together. Where the stars are bright and pure, and make no sound in their heavenly beds.

Venom bile rises in Jane's throat. She is revolted by their coupling, yet cannot tear her eyes away. Why this sudden curiosity, when before there was only disgust? Is she afraid of being found?

No. She's not afraid of anything. Only… only his rejection of her.

She wrenches her thoughts away from that quarter, watching and listening to the vampires in front of her almost hungrily. The perversion of the moment fades as she replaces Felix's towering, burly form with the slighter, more graceful figure of her Master. Those are not Heidi's hands clutching at his shoulders, but hers. Those are not Heidi's lips, breathing salty moans as she slams with helpless force back into the wall. They are hers.

Hers alone, because she wills it. _His_ body, because she cannot see anyone else in this way and not be repulsed.

Her face gleams with red tears. The vision she has is beautiful. Yes, she has committed a crime by thinking, but he knows already, doesn't he? Her Master knows it all. And he has shunned her. For two whole weeks. He can't punish her any further than he's done already. She is dying inside, and these visions are her sanity.

She wonders if he'll ever know about this. She doesn't care. A secretive heat blossoms inside her, blotting out all other rational thought. She does not move—makes no attempt to touch her body—but merely sits still, her eyes fastened on what she believes is her and her Master.

She whimpers as she—no, Heidi—comes.

She is so close… it is painful.

They have heard her.

"Someone's over there," Heidi hisses. She kicks Felix in the leg and he stumbles back, the expression on his face very comical, if Jane only felt like laughing. The burning in Jane's body is fading quickly. Felix stalks towards her, his teeth grinding together unpleasantly.

He pauses. Then laughs. "It's only Jane," he says.

Heidi looks murderous, but then she relaxes, coming to stand beside him. With her auburn locks tousled, and her lips swollen and red, she looks the very pinnacle of sensuous, feminine beauty. Her eyes harden to jewels, and her mouth is even harder as she kneels to stare Jane in the face.

"Eavesdropping, little witch?" she sneers. "Did you enjoy the show?"

It's quite brave of her, Jane thinks. She could have this woman writhing on the floor within seconds. Heidi knows this, of course.

"Can't get it any other way, can we?" Heidi continues, her insults growing rougher and sharper. She doesn't understand why the little witch watches her that way. Why doesn't she move?

"Come, Heidi," Felix whispers. He drags her to her feet, giving her a callous kiss before spinning her around in the other direction. He looks down at Jane, grinning.

Jane is very frightened now. The anger… is gone. Her pain, which usually served as the perfect fuel for her favorite emotion, is completely useless now. It lies in her heart like a dead weight, dragging her will down into delicate mounds of grey ash.

She can smell him, as he kneels. Smell the result of his passion and Heidi's. It sickens her, because it doesn't smell like her Master. She tries in vain to summon up that smell, but Felix's face breaks through the vision easily. She is dwarfed by him, nearly lost in the folds of her grey cloak.

"Don't do that again," he breathes.

She says nothing. She is conjuring up images of hateful things she's said to him, ways she has tortured him for disobeying the Masters a few times. He was her favorite to use her gift on, because of his sheer size. It made her feel strong. Powerful.

She doesn't feel powerful now.

He pinches her cheek, almost lovingly, before slapping his hand across her face.

"_Don't _do that again," he repeats. He stands, his shadow obliterating the torchlight for a moment before he's gone, and she's left alone to her thoughts.

Fresh blood stains her cheeks.

Even her emotions have failed her.

* * *

She has sacrificed everything for him, her Master. Her youth, her life. The golden forgiveness of the world, had he simply saved her from the villager's fear and set her free somewhere to heal.

Her veins were too fresh to be frozen.

They could have gone to Rome, her and Alec. Introductions could have been arranged for them, along with a modest, well-kept house within the civilized city. The wealthy residents would not have cared about something as illogical as superstition.

She doesn't ask herself why Aro chose this. It would only make her lie to herself a little more. She and her brother are gifted. They always had been, even in their tender, human years. Rome, or any other ancient city, had never even been an option.

He'd frozen her. Touched blood to her eyes, and stroked baby-smooth fingers until they twitched in her new, undead state.

She had given him everything willingly, and now she regretted it. Were it not for Alec—dear, sweet, wise Alec—she would have no wish to be undead anymore.

_Dead _is a much, much sweeter word. It has an ending.

* * *

**And yes, it is possible to have some Aro in the next chapter. **

**It is entirely up to you, my darlings. *smirks* Press the little button down below.**


	4. Chapter 4

**"Her words are swimming through his ears again..." **

**(Panic! At the Disco; "The Ballad of Mona Lisa")**

This is the second time she's spent more than a day in her room, entirely secluded. Not even Alec knows how to get her out. Her duties as a Guard member are suffering. Her words are as black as her mood. She snaps at anyone who tries to console her. Even Caius is concerned, burdening her brother with orders and indignant demands until Alec bangs on her door loudly, shouting at her to_ please_ come out.

"Jane!" he cries.

And the pain burns worse than ever, knowing he's in pain. Knowing she's _causing _that pain, and doing nothing to stop it. She waits until his knocks cease, exhaling a ragged breath as his footsteps die away in the silence. She will admit no one. She wishes to be erased entirely. Aro could look at her now—the tiniest smile, really—and she would literally fall at his feet. _Kiss _his feet. Grovel like an idiot for his approval, his praise…

Another knock. Naturally, she doesn't respond.

It repeats itself, the second time a firm, insistent rap.

"Go away, Alec," she mumbles. She doesn't even consider anyone else. The Guard know her moods well, and this latest one has kept them far away from her. No doubt Heidi and Felix have spread their filthy mouths elsewhere. There are no secrets in the _fortezza. _

The door opens briefly, then closes.

"Alec!"

She whips her head around, her childish voice rough.

It's him.

She can't breathe.

Her Master stands silently, beautiful as an angel, despite the guarded expression in his eyes. He's dressed for the opera, and she remembers it is his customary night to attend. _Oh, yes._ She instructed Gianna to obtain the tickets for _Don Giovanni, _didn't she? Typically, he would have asked her to go with him. Sometimes, she refused, but most nights she was only too happy for an evening out with her Master.

He never asks her now.

The Volturi leader moves forward slowly, stopping a few feet away.

"Jane."

She doesn't look at him. She looks down at his polished shoes. Strange how the smallest thing can send a sweet ripple of fire through her body. She has never seen him without shoes and socks. Not a single article of clothing removed, besides a well-pressed jacket or cloak.

"Master," she replies simply.

"Jane, I want you to talk to me. Can you do that?"

Her heart aches. She nods.

"Answer me."

"Yes, Master. Whatever you wish."

She means to sound polite, but it only sounds impertinent. He doesn't seem to notice. "Have a seat," he says gently.

She inhales, almost choking on the breath. It's the gentleness in his voice that lets her breathe again. She rises from her bed, sinking into a chair by a plain-looking vanity, her fists clenched quietly by her sides. Aro fetches a chair from the other side of the room, sitting across from her a moment later. The chairs were built for her and Alec, or some other small person. He looks so strange, sitting there; the chair legs too short, and his midnight cloak pooling noiselessly about his feet. She watches his hands, curling and uncurling uncertainly on his lap as he searches for what to say.

This isn't right.

Her Master is confident, assured. He always knows _exactly _what he wants, and he usually gets it. He is _never _uncertain. And this scares her.

She raises her eyes, only to find him staring at her intently.

"Jane," he says again, frustrated.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, for lack of anything else to say.

He blinks. "For what, _bambina?" _

"You know…" she mumbles.

"Jane. These feelings… are not your fault."

"I am responsible for my actions, Master. _You_ taught me that."

"Yes."

Uncertainty. Fear. You could cut the tension cleanly with a knife.

"Say something," she pleads.

He lifts his eyes to hers. The wise sadness in them is worse than anything she imagined. Why doesn't he yell at her? Degrade her? Remind her of her status compared to him, and how utterly _stupid _she is to have _ever _contemplated this?

"This cannot be, Jane," he says softly.

_I know. _

"The differences between us… are too drastic to even consider."

_I know. _

"Our physical differences, alone, would be cause for a great many to hate you, were they to know of this." He speaks so softly, so kindly. As if he's helping a crying child up from the ground, soothing her cries over a scraped knee.

She hates it.

"This cannot be," he repeats.

Jane nods dully. Her thoughts float about in a dark, bitter haze. She feels as if she's breaking up slowly. Little pieces of her are falling to the floor, and he doesn't even see them. She wants to cry, but doesn't. He has never seen her weep, and she'd like to keep it that way.

He leans forward suddenly. She flinches as his hand cups her cheek.

"You used to tell me everything," he whispers.

She nods.

"Jane, please look at me."

She doesn't want to. But she obeys him, anyway. The noble features of his face leap out at her in details so exquisite and beautiful, her heart can't help but crack a little bit more. He has eyes like stars, her Master. His lashes cast secret shadows on his cheekbones that she imagines only she can see. Her eyes rove for a moment, forgetting his hand on her cheek, and she realizes with a sudden pang that every detail is well known to her. Even the small, grey blemish on the left side of his throat, only visible to an immortal's eyes. It shimmers when the light hits it; when his long, carefully smoothed hair is set aside. Like a bit of moonshine, or the gleam of polished silver in the sun.

His scars. She imagines touching them, with an awe close to reverence, when her eyes meet his again and she turns away, ashamed and guilty once more.

Aro's face is an odd mixture. Surprise, pain, and yet another flash of surprise. He thinks he has seen it all, but his precious gem continues to give. Bleeding out thoughts from her little heart, until he is overwhelmed with soft, anguished colors.

Her round cheek nestles into his palm, fitting perfectly. She says she's sorry again, through their connection, and he drops his hand from her face, sighing deeply.

She watches him silently.

"I am sorry, as well," he apologizes. "I have not treated my little one with kindness. I left you in pain, when you no doubt had need of me."

The vampire child looks down at her hands.

"But we must be frank, now, Jane," he continues. "No more evasions. I only want to help you."

"You can't help me," she mutters. Her eyes, sharp like pricks of blood, flicker up to his before darting away again. She knows how stupid and trivial this all sounds to him. There's no way he could feel otherwise.

_Like one of those stupid fairytales I used to read. _No such thing as happy endings, not ever. Did the Prince leave Rapunzel for one of the scullery maids in his castle? Oh, no. He stayed with the princess, and loved her, because that's how it is all supposed to be. _Always _supposed to be!

_But what about the scullery maid? Whom does _she _have to love? _

Jane looks up. Her Master is watching her, concern marring some of the sadness from her face. He reaches out to her, as if to touch her knee. She leaps to her feet, grinding her small teeth together viciously.

_No one. She will break her back, serving her Master, because that's all that was planned out for her. Well, it's all the damn story could _provide,_ anyway! _

Aro rises to his feet, lips slightly agape. "Jane… My dear, what ails you?"

She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud. Anger breaks over her in red waves.

"You!" she snaps. "It's all your damn fault!"

He steps back from her. She moves forward, on fire with her favorite emotion. She can see the hurt in his face. She knows she will regret causing him pain, but for now, there is nothing at all. Nothing… save vicious pleasures and selfish accusations.

"I don't want your pity!" she shrieks. "I don't want _anyone's _pity! And I don't want your kindness, either! I want…! I want…!"

"What?" he whispers.

"I—I don't k-know!" She gasps for breath, sobbing. Tears burst from her eyes, bloodying her cheeks in virgin red. "I just want to be left alone," she cries.

She can't look at his face anymore. Her little body is aching with a pain that goes beyond what any mortal could feel. This is more than just physical agony. This is hell, but in the worst, most excruciating sense she could have ever imagined.

She bats his hands aside, a sharp "thwack" sound as the back of her hand collides with his palm. She tears past him, and then there's nothing but darkness. Sweet, soothing, punishing, irresistible darkness. Leave her in it, and this wretched soul might eventually heal.

_I found it, _she thinks, huddling a second later, like a broken doll, on the rooftops.

_Anger..._

Her anger, stifled by pain, had returned, for one blinding second. Then it had left her, taking with it her self.

_Did I ever have a self, though? _Twelve years is so very few. She only saw the spring of her human life. Only the barest beginnings of spring…

Until they took it from her. She is nothing, without him. They both know this now.

The sobs subside. Too soon, really. Jane looks up at the stars silently, planning any number of deaths for that golden princess in the tower, and for the blind Prince who came to save her.

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**What do you think? Hm? *bounces anxiously on my toes***


	5. Chapter 5

**"The room was humming harder, as the ceiling flew away..." **

**(Procol Harem; "A Whiter Shade of Pale")**

Jane leans against the wall, hidden by the statue of a mournful-looking Aphrodite. Her small hand rests on the goddess' heel. It's hard and cold, so like everyone else in the ballroom, but she draws strange comfort from it. The goddess is not moving. She is silent, and blessedly still.

There is a celebration being held in the fortezza. _Festa di Tutti i Santi_. All Saints' Day. A festival meant to honor all the Catholic saints, as well as the martyrs. It is a blatant mockery of the religion, which is why Aro spasmodically celebrates it every other decade. Michaelmas is a favorite of his, as well. Come a random winter, he could be seen flitting about the castle, holding a sprig of holly up to his nose while chanting snatches of madrigal tunes.

It confused her a great deal, when she was still young and learning.

"But there is no God, Master," she told him gravely, several centuries back. "You said so yourself."

"I said no such thing," he replied merrily. "You may believe what you wish, _gioiello. _Let me explore these mortal enjoyments as I will."

She had left it at that. She didn't believe in God herself. In her mind, the very existence of their kind was proof of that fact. As always, though, she did not judge Aro for anything he did. Let others poke fun behind his back, but she herself loved his childish glee at bright colors, parties, and music.

Of course, now was an exception. _Everything _was an exception these days, now that her secret was revealed to him. She is no longer content to partake in the dancing, or even a few minutes of conversation with any guests he may have invited.

She is hurt and empty, and she doesn't care if the whole world knows of it.

A shadow flits over to her side, and warm fingers touch hers.

"You look awful," her brother whispers. He's a little out of breath from dancing, and though his cheeks are bloodless, his eyes sparkle from the merriment imbibed.

"So?" she says shortly. His lovely face crumples, and she quickly hugs him. "Forgive me, Alec. I'm not myself tonight."

"You _always _dance," he says sadly. "And we always do the _cotillion _together, remember?"

She's made him unhappy. The last thing she wanted. "Alec, I can't."

He pouts. "You're the only one here who is my size."

"Dance with Heidi. She's latched onto every male out there."

"I _hate _dancing with Heidi. She always wears those skyscrapers for heels."

"Tell her to take them off."

"Jane?"

"_No, _Alec."

"Please?"

She sighs. "Okay. Fine. But don't cry or _I'm _going to cry, too!"

He smiles, all traces of sadness washed away. "I knew you'd say yes! See you after the waltz!"

She watches him run off, looking like Gainsborough's blue boy in his neatly-pressed suit. Odd, but she's been thinking of him more like a mother to a son lately. Worrying about him, making sure he's safe.

_It makes sense, _she thinks dully. _I feel as if I've aged a millennia since the… _

Yes. Since _the _conversation. She can't even remember what was said between her and Aro anymore. Only that the pain is still raw, raking against her chest with merciless little claws until she pleads with herself not to cry at night.

Someone would hear, and they would tell him. And he cannot… he _must not_… hear her.

She forces her lips back into a smile. Alec is back.

"Come," he calls merrily. Some of his merriment is false, she can tell. He is putting on a brave front, trying to pretend nothing is wrong. She loves him for it.

She takes his hand, and they take their place in the line of pale, beautifully-dressed couples. She can see several guests have been invited. They begin the complex pattern of the _cotillion, _and she forgets all else in her focus to do the steps correctly. It has been a long time since she danced this particular style.

Alec, bless him, seems to know what he's doing. She follows his steps, and soon they are moving effortlessly with the rest. No one smiles at the seemingly innocent twins, adorable as they look in their tiny costumes. Their reputation is known to vampires around the world, and is not something to laugh at.

Alec leaves her side suddenly, replaced by a somber vampire in Eastern European get-up. Jane scowls, but says nothing, having forgotten that the _cotillion _involves the constant interchanging of partners. She speaks to him civilly, and he answers as a man to a woman. His name is Karl, and he is visiting from the frigid confines of Iceland.

"Your gown suits you well, _Signorina," _he says in a rough, deep voice. Her language sounds ugly with his accent, and she changes the subject.

"Iceland is very far," she says.

"Yes, it is."

"Do you mount polar bears in bad weather?"

His canines show a little past his lips. Her mockery is obvious, and not just because there are no polar bears in his home country. They finish the round in silence, and he hands her off to yet another partner.

It is Felix. She bites her tongue, endeavoring not to bring his hulking carcass down to the floor. But he only dances silently, as if nothing has happened between them.

Afton is next. A true gentleman, originally from the Mediterranean. He is very sweet to her, and she cheers up minimally. She is beginning to feel like a _true_ woman. The tiny corset she wears is a welcome burden. (Corsets are good. They give her the figure she was only beginning to have, in her human life.)

She is moving faster now. Her ruby slippers, edged in black ribbon, barely touch the marble floor. The excitement of the dance is finally catching up to her. Her breathing quickens, and she imagines a heartbeat quickening, as well.

She is actually, impossibly… having fun.

_This is okay. This is safe. _

Until the dance shifts once again, and she finds herself spinning from Afton's arms, her jeweled slippers gliding helplessly over marble, into a much stronger, colder grasp.

"Jane," Aro says softly, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Master."

Her voice sounds strange. Too fluttery, too excited. She sounds like she's had too much drink, or danced with one too many of the male vampires.

"Master," she says again. He says nothing in return, and her gasp of embarrassment is lost in the music as he spins her with the other couples. She feels sorry for him, and for herself. They can't exchange partners 'til the round is complete. It would be a breach of etiquette.

There are no words exchanged. His face is like rippling stone, shifting rapidly from one emotion to the next. She cannot possibly follow them all.

Her eyes dare a glance up to his face, and his cold eyes. His hair is pulled back neatly from his scalp, tied with a dashing queue in the back. His suit is pure black, but very expensive. It shimmers with tasteful diamonds and lace, and a silver watch chain that loops just above his waist. She thinks how beautiful he is. She damns herself for thinking it.

She's as close to him as she's ever wanted, and she is in hell.

The faces are moving too fast, but she can still pick out a few here and there. Afton, Felix, Chelsea… even Caius, who seems to have decided to join the party after all. And Alec—dear, sweet, over-protective Alec—who is watching her more closely than anyone. She hides her face, feeling sick to her stomach.

She wonders why he hasn't exchanged her yet.

His voice fills her ears. "Are you all right, _bambina?" _

"Yes… 'm fine…"

She presses her forehead dizzily to his perfect, silk vest, and the scent of pine trees and fresh mint fills her nostrils. A disturbing heat flames inside of her body.

_No! _

The music is getting louder.

She moans quietly. _Too much._ _Make it stop. _

Aro's face is right in front of her, his eyes wide and crimson. "Jane!"

_Make it stop! _She mouths it over and over, giving the words a power they don't have, because she can't get up the courage to speak them aloud.

Other faces join her Master's. Rustling of skirts and expensive jackets as she becomes the center of unwanted attention. The music has lost all gaiety; a jumble of keyboards and notes smashing together in cataclysmic harmony. It is so loud and ugly. She wishes it would _stop. _

Alec is lying on the floor beside her, his cheek pressed to the marble to see her clearly. Why is he lying down, she wonders?

Oh. _She _is lying down.

_Why am I lying down? _

She turns her head, and Aro is right there, worried and solemn and so damn beautiful it hurts.

_Make it stop, _she asks him tenderly.

Felix's face blurs her vision. His smile frightens her.

Nobody is listening to her.

_Make it stop... _

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***perches atop the little box at the bottom of the page* It's there for you dears. Click on it, and tell me what you think. :) Is there you want to see, in this story, or in the next chapter? **


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